


All My Sons

by gayunsolved



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Don’t read this, Sad, Sad Ending, Self Harm, Short and painful like a dagger, Suicide, This is legitimately awful I’m sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-05 08:17:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14040054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayunsolved/pseuds/gayunsolved
Summary: Tyler had the wings. Without him, Josh never stood a fucking chance.





	All My Sons

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Arthur Miller play of the same name, from which Twenty One Pilots derived its name. 
> 
> Please be careful reading this. It is extremely dark and awful. I wrote it at 3 AM when I couldn’t sleep or stop crying. It’s absolutely devastating and triggering.

Serotonin rushed like blood to his head. Technical difficulties occurred somewhere between his mind and his muscles, stranding him like a page torn free of the notebook containing its purpose. Blood rushed like water from the rift in his shattered skull. Pill bottles gorged on perfect relief, perfect pain, and nothing more. Circuit breaker, broken, heart forgetting how to beat, beaten by time. Time was never forgiving. Even after Josh closed his eyes, he could see nothing else, feel nothing else. All he could taste was metallic, bitter nothingness. The taste of the Ohio bedroom where everything ended.

And so there was no more Tyler. No more floral shoes and nervous tapping feet. No more fixing masks and fixing each other where the world had left wounds. There was no traveling the world playing music together. All that remained was empty plane rides to distant places to collect the last scraps of memories, anything that had been touched by that perfect hurricane of Tyler. The piano never sounded quite right under any other fingers. Even the airy melodies of the ukulele were weighed down by the ghost of the man with a hole through his head. 

Demons learn quickly how to claw through bone and scar wrists from the inside out. Blood meandered to the surface of the skin swimming with tattoo ink, where the ghosts of loving fingerprints lingered too long. There is only so long that one can drum out the anger felt towards the world. His drumsticks broke, splintering. Splinters tasting of late Ohio winter nights and lyrics no one else could ever comprehend. Blood filled the kitchen sink, filled every note and every chord, left floods of song. 

And so there was no more Josh. No more red eyes and red hair. No more perfect smile and perfect lies hiding the demons his best friend held out to the cruel world. The music never felt so empty. Mark gave the camera away. So tired of film rolls wrapped in ghosts. There was nothing left. 

When they built the planes in that godforsaken factory, no one ever told of the defective parts. So twenty one pilots crashed their planes, too broken to fly.

**Author's Note:**

> If you read this, I’m so sorry. I’m working on happier things, I promise. I just needed to get this off my chest.


End file.
